


Punk Rock is Dead

by kydkry



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 90's Music, Frottage, M/M, Phone Sex, Prep Marco, Punk Jean, Punk Rock, Slow Build, Teen Angst, Violence, gay nerds, underaged drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kydkry/pseuds/kydkry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's senior year, 1995 and Marco Bodt has never had a real friend.<br/>A complete loser.<br/>A record collector.<br/>An honors graduate.</p><p>Jean Kirschtein is a no-good punk kid who just wants to have a little fun.<br/>A reckless boy.<br/>A novice guitare player.<br/>A lost cause.</p><p>Their friendship is like forcing two magnets together, but... somehow, it just works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Marco

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I haven't written a fanfiction in a while, but I've been seeing a LOT of fanart about punk Jean and I was just aching to get my hands on it! 
> 
> Set in the 90's because you know, why not? (I used this as a reference to know what bands to talk about in the future)
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_punk_rock
> 
> Un-beta'd so tell me if there are any major mistakes?
> 
> xx LoveHair

_Miraculously, I go a whole 18 years of my life without having met Jean Kirschtein._

_Funny thing, I never knew what I was missing out on until now._

_Now. Right now._

_Right now, he’s looking at me, and I’m looking right back into those amber globes in his head. I can see the upside-down reflection of myself in his pupils. Our foreheads slide together in the most natural of ways._

_Jean Kirschtein. How did I ever survive without him?_

 

\--

 

**August 26 th, 1995**

 

It’d been a hot summer. The kind of summer that made your skin stick to your chair and sweat to run down your thighs, making them chafe painfully with each step. Heat was miserable. Summer was miserable. More particularly, the kind of friendless summers that had accompanied me my entire life.

Okay so, maybe I wasn’t _that_  miserable. I did have a pretty impressive record collection that took up, really, most of my time. And, I had a pretty good set of parents. I mean, they were still together and everything.  Maybe that’s a bit lame to say but, I was crazy about my mom and dad. I mean, I loved them both to death. And I still do. So, whatever, maybe that made me a bit of a Momma’s boy or maybe that’s why I didn’t have a whole lot of friends, but as far as I was concerned, I didn’t really need any.

I had records, I had comic books, and I had my parents. Sure, maybe I was lonely, but I’d never really known what friendship was like that much. What it could feel like, to love someone so much. What it could feel like to trust someone with your secrets and have them trust you, too.

God, I was a real loser.

But, at least it was my last year of high school.  

 I stuffed a piece of toast in my mouth and pushed up my glasses, catching them just before they could slip down my nose. I was not going to be late my first day as a senior. I had an example to set, darn it! I wedged my feet into brown loafers and straightened out the pale yellow sweater vest I’d picked out for my first day. (Or really, that my mom had picked out _for_  me, but Gosh, that’s sort of embarrassing to say, isn’t it?)

“Mom, Dad, I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late!” I yelled in the direction of the hallway, hoping that at least one of them would catch my words. Instead, I got an unsatisfied grunt from the bathroom where my mom was scrubbing the shower clean.

“Mom! Dad!” I called out again, wiping crumbs from the toast (currently residing in my stomach) and adjusting my book bag so that both straps were secured over my shoulders. I peeked my head into the bathroom and gave my mom a quick kiss on the cheek, bidding her goodbye like I was about to go on some journey I might never return from.

My dad was asleep. I knew he was. He hardly ever woke up before noon, since he’d been laid off in June. My mom was working as a telemarketer and making/selling her own soaps and other body care products on the side. Often times I’d come home to find her leaning up against the wall on a stool pulled up next to the phone, curling the chord around her finger  idly as she did business.

“Tell dad I said bye, too,” I said as I dashed out of the room. I wasn’t going to be that late, really. Maybe a few minutes, but it was the first day of school. That was forgivable, right? I mean, they wouldn’t kick me out of honors class for being late the first day of school. Right?

“Marco!”

I turned my head just before I’d cleared the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Try to make some friends, this year, okay?”

My cheeks got red. God. How embarrassing was that?! Your own mother having to hope that her only son can make friends. I was pathetic.

“Yeah… Okay mom. I’ll try.”

I couldn’t make any promises.

 

Ever since I’d gotten my license, I’d been driving this sort of grunge-looking SUV that my dad had bought me for the 16th birthday, even though I’d expressed no desire whatsoever to have a car of my own. I was grateful, though. Of course I was. I mean, how many kids in high school actually had a car? I felt pretty cool…

Pulling into the student parking lot, I checked my wrist watch. I was three minutes late. Gosh. Some way to start the new year. Maybe I was making a big deal out of nothing but, I was a pretty nervous guy. Okay, I was a _really_  nervous guy. I was a nervous wreck. Which, really, was why I had such a hard time making friends.

It was only the first day of school and I was already compiling a list called “Reasons why Marco Bodt can’t make friends”. I was such a loser. Reason number one. First and foremost.

Anyway, I made it to my first period class without really getting stuck at my locker for too long and was officially only five minutes late. The teacher didn’t really seem to care. He was doing ice-breakers with the other students while I took my seat.

“This is my first year, teaching here at Trost High. But, not my first year _teaching_. Don’t get that impression from me. You _will_  be sadly mistaken if you don’t think I know every trick in the book.”

I heard a few students audibly sigh from the back of the room. Some people were so immature. I mean, this was an honors class, for God’s sake! Mr. Smith continued on speaking.

“By the end of this year, a lot of you will have failed this class. I’m not about to lie to you. Honors History is not a class to be laughed at. Of course, there will be times for joking in this class and there will be times when you want to crawl up into a fetal position and cry. This is a hard class. And if there is anyone in here that isn’t prepared to take that seriously, you can leave.”

Mr. Smith paused, looking through the crowd of desks. He waited for someone to leave, but no one did.

He was about to move on, when suddenly a kid from the back of the room raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“What if we’re not supposed to be in this class at all?”

The class shared a little giggle and I turned my head back to see the guy that was talking with that sarcastic drawl of tongue. My eyes met with his for a brief moment before he looked away. That guy… what was wrong with him?! Dressing like that?!

He clicked his pierced tongue against his teeth and grinned, adjusting the collar of his ratty jean jacket. His head was half shaved, well, a little more than half shaved, and he kept that hair he did have messy and spiked. His eyes were coated with rows of dark eyeliner. I’d never seen a guy wear eyeliner. Wasn’t that a thing for girls? Gosh, this guy was weird.

“Are you not supposed to be in this class?” the teacher asked.

“Nooope,” he replied with a shrug. The class erupted with laughter again. Yeah, ha ha ha, real funny. He dug out a paper from his pocket which had previously been balled up. It made a crinkling noise as he straightened it out against his desk.

“Ah! It says here that my first period is Biology.”

Mr. Smith looked slightly annoyed. His hands were now on his hips. I wanted to tell that guy to cut it out. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t _cool_  to disrespect teachers. I wanted to tell him that just because he dressed like he was tough, it didn’t mean he was.  

 “Well then,” he began, “Why don’t you just head down to biology then?”

“Well, you see I would, sir. I really would. But, I just didn’t want to miss your beginning of the year lecture.”

This guy…  
Did he _want_  to have a Saturday school?

Mr. Smith rolled his eyes.

“I think it’d be best if you head down to your class now, Mr..”

“Please, call me Jean.”

Jean. Jean was an asshole. I didn’t really like calling people assholes, but that was the only word I could use to describe him.

“Please return to your class. Either that, or go to the office, Mr.”

Jean ran his fingers through his hair. I could tell that he’d gelled it because it stayed the way that he’d shaped it with his hand. His pierced eyebrow raised a little.

“Erwin, come on.”

“You will call me Mr. Smith in my class room.”

He rolled his eyes.

“That’s it,” the older man declared. “Go straight to the office!”

An audible chorus of “ooh” could be heard from my fellow classmates. I felt my face overheated with anger. Jean. Jean had ruined my first day already and I was only ten minutes into it.

He stood up dramatically and groaned, shoving his hands into the oversized pockets of his jeans, held up by a studded belt, and began walking out the door that Erwi- Mr. Smith had been pointing to. He let the door slam behind him and a frustrated sigh left my lips. I didn’t think people like him actually existed. At least, not at my school.

“If anyone else wants to be a joker, he can leave and go see the principle as well.”

No one moved. Mr. Smith let out a breath he’d been holding in and swept his hair back into a neat, blonde curve with his fingertips.

“Okay. Open the books under your desks and turn to the first section.”

 

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. I was sort of thankful that I didn't run into that Jean guy in the halls. When I came back home, I collapsed onto my bed. I hated school. I hated my teachers. I hated my classes. But most of all, I hated the people _in_  my school. The people like _him._

My mom knocked on my door before pushing it open the rest of the way.

“How was your first day?” she asked.

I didn’t feel like lying to her, so instead I turned my head so that my answer was muffled into my pillow.

“Awful,” I murmured. She made a thoughtful “hm” and clicked the heel of her foot against the hardwood floor where the hall met my carpeted bedroom.

“Do you want to talk about it? I made you an after school snack.”

“Mom, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

No. “Yes.”

I knew that she was just looking out for me, but for the first time all summer, I felt annoyed at her for caring so much. That thought sort of scared me so I sat up in bed and rolled over to look at her.

My mom was covered in freckles like me. From head to toe it was all freckle after freckle on dark skin. I liked that I looked like her, her perfect carbon copy son. And I was happy that I could make _her_  happy, and make her worry about me. I knew that if I  _did_ have friends, I'd want them to care about me like my parents did. I wanted my friends to be civilized and kind and understanding. I did not want friends like Jean. 

“My day wasn’t really that bad. I just have a lot of homework, that’s all.” I lied. I hated lying to my mom. But, sometimes it needed to be done. I was getting to be the age where I realized that sometimes people didn't want to hear the truth. What was the phrase? Ignorance is bliss?

She smiled at me with a fraction of disbelief on her face. “Tomorrow will be better,” she promised and I believed her. I really did. God, we were wrong.    

We were  _so_ wrong.


	2. How to be a lady killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> Professional lady killer Marco Bodt. 
> 
> Bad-boy Jean's throwing a party. 
> 
> Krista is NOT dating Ymir
> 
> And maybe Marco made a friend. Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter was fun to write. I finally got to write Ymir's character. Ahhhh! (She's like my all-time favorite, you guys don't understand.) 
> 
> Anyway, I forgot to mention that there is going to be underaged drinking so I went back and added that to the tags with a few other things. ;)
> 
> xx LoveHair

**Sept 1 st, 1995**

 

I put abbey road onto the record player and set the needle just right as I fired her up. We had a real genuine 1950’s player that my grandfather had passed down to my dad and that my dad had passed down to me. I loved the way music sounded fuller from a record player.

Cassette players were really annoying to me, and I didn’t own a Walkman. I didn’t like the way music reached your ears through headphones. I liked it when it filled the entire room. I liked it when music was atmosphere.

As I lay on my back, I started thinking about, another extremely depressing factor in my life, why I’d never had a girlfriend. I mean, I guess that was a little obvious. You weren’t going to land a girlfriend if you couldn’t land a friend. That was just logical. But, I was really starting to let this stuff get me down lately. Things that hadn’t bothered me my whole life, suddenly set me on edge and I felt self-conscious about things like my skin tone and the pudge on my stomach and the clothes that I wore.

I sat up a little so that I could see myself in the mirror that was propped up against my door. My black, stringy hair had a part straight down the middle and tracks could be easily seen from the excessive combing of my fingers. I put my hands on my cheeks and squished them together a little. Did most 18 year olds still have baby fat? I felt so embarrassed of my own body.

I took my glasses off and placed them on the floor next to me while I crawled closer to the mirror. My eyes were too big and too dark. My nose was too short. My tan was uneven and not to mention that there were about a billion freckles spread out all over my body. God. No wonder I’d never had a girlfriend.

Just then, I heard a knock and slipped my glasses back on, scooting away from the door so that whoever was knocking could come right in.

“Marco? Could you turn down that music? Your mom and I are trying to sleep in the-”

I cut him off, pulling the needle away from the record and letting it spin for a bit before unplugging the machine.

“Yeah, got it, Dad. Sorry.”

He smiled a little, his eyes looking tired. My dad looked nothing like me, or really _I_  looked nothing like him. He had pale skin and dark hair and his face was thin and skinny like the rest of him. I wondered if I got any of his genes at all, and I sort of cursed the world that I didn’t. Maybe I would have been more attractive if I did. I felt embarrassed, thinking about this.

“Go to bed, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay, dad.”

He closed my door with a little whisper of, “G’ night,” and for some reason I sort of felt like crying. I guess I really did get lonely sometimes, and I was feeling lonely now. I needed a dog or something. Boys with dogs didn’t get lonely. Boy with dogs were happier than this.

I took abbey road and slid it back into its sleeve before heading to bed to sleep off this horrible feeling.

 

The next day was another Monday and the start of the second week of school. I was a little less nervous than I was the first and pulled into the parking lot with my dingy, red-paint-peeling-off SUV, with five minutes to spare. I locked the door, adjusting my backpack again and began walking to the front entrance, hearing the _click click_  of heels from behind me. I turned my head to see a short blonde girl behind me and looked her over. Noticing I was looking, she smiled back at me. I felt my face heat up. Girls were the mystery of the universe and I didn’t have them figured out in the slightest.

I could hear my mom’s voice in my head, then, telling me to make friends and I swallowed, hard. I stopped at the entrance and opened the door for her in silent invitation. She smiled a little wider and thanked me as I let the door fall back against the hinges after me.

I must have been blushing pretty hard because she was giggling at me while I stumbled over my words.

“Y-you’re than-no. I mean. You’re welcome.”

L-O-S-E-R. Christ, just kill me already.

“I’m Krista,” she introduced.

Marco. For some reason the word wouldn’t really leave my lips. Maybe it was because I was talking to a girl, a really _pretty_  girl.

“Well, I’ll see you around?” she asked, and I was pulled out of my thoughts.

“Uh.. yeah,” I replied, lamely.

She nodded and began walking downstairs towards the language classes.

“Oh! I’m Marco, by the way!” I yelled down at her, but she’d already disappeared. I banged my head against the locker next to me and sighed with frustration.

“Smooth.”

I heard a voice that wasn’t my own and looked up to find none other than that completely tool I met my first day of classes. Jean. What did he want? My lunch money? I froze. What if he was a bully? What if he was going to bully _me_? What did I ever do to deserve this?

“You’re a real lady killer, aren’t you?”

There was something about his voice that was wrong. Like listening to him talk was the same as taking a drag on a cigarette. Like listening him talk was like skipping class. I scooted closer to the locker, defenselessly. I was really going to get it. I was going to get hit by the guy, and if I wasn’t, I was worried that _he_  was going to get hit by _me_. I knew how to fight when I needed to. I knew how to self-defend. 

“Can you talk or are you one of those sign language kids?”

“I can talk.”

He grinned. I was so scared.

“D-do you want my money or something?” I asked with clear concern in my voice. Jean bit his bottom lip to keep a spell of laughter from leaking out. What was so funny? I was feeling like I was about to pee myself and meanwhile this guy was laughing it up.

He grabbed me by the collar and suddenly I was slammed up against the lockers behind me. Ow. I made a squeak of surprise.

“I’m not a thug,” he whispered and dropped my collar. “Marco. I don’t need you money.”

I forgot. He’d probably heard my name from when I yelled it at Krista. I felt sort of embarrassed for acting so badly now that I knew that he wasn’t after my money. I brushed my collar back into its fixed position and tried not to look at Jean, which was actually pretty hard considering that I could feel his eyes on me.

“I’m going to go to Biology, _lady killer_ , and as much as I love this little back and forth, if I’m late one more time my ass is Principal Pixis’ target practice.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth again and lifted his army green book bag over one shoulder. I was surprised that his parents even let him carry that dirty thing. I mean the holes in that bag… How were any of the books staying in?

I watched Jean as he pushed passed me, knocking into my shoulder. I stood, stunned, simply watching Jean leisurely walk away from me. He did a mock-enthusiastic salute at the short teacher waiting outside of the biology classroom, before disappearing into the class. That guy. He was something alright.

 

After history, I had Pre-Calc and then Spanish 2. I pretty much bombed at Spanish, but still, I needed two years of language to graduate. I hated having to take Spanish almost as much as I’d hated having to take gym freshman year. That was a horrible year, in general. I shivered a little at the thought.

 Anyway, the Spanish teacher was this really enthusiastic woman named Hange. She was sort of nuts and everyone knew it. Sometimes she’d completely stop a lesson to gossip with us about the other teachers always claiming that ‘you didn’t hear any of that from me, kids’ in case we tried to spread the rumors around. (Which we always did. Well, that everyone else always did. I didn’t exactly have a lot of people to tell secrets to.) Other times, she would get so heated into a discussion about romance languages that her face got all red and she’d start yelling. Yeah, she was freaking nuts.

Everyone in Spanish was assigned their own book to use at the beginning of the year, because most of the stuff that we did was work pages straight out of the book. But, somehow, maybe I had God to thank for this; I got stuck without one, which meant that I had to go pair up with someone every time that we worked out of the book.

“Marco, why don’t you share with Reiner for today?” Ms. Hange suggested and with slight hesitation, I scooted my chair over towards the indicated man’s desk. Reiner, from what I could tell, was some tough jock guy. He was always wearing his varsity jacket and eating protein bars aggressively during class. For some reason, I got this sort of feeling from him that he was trying to scare off everyone. Or maybe, it was just his tree-trunk-sized biceps that were telling me this.

Reiner scooted his book over so that I could see the page better and I muttered a thank you that he seemed to brush off. Or maybe he hadn’t heard it at all. I didn’t ask.

Unsurprisingly, Reiner didn’t actually do any of the work in Spanish. He tore out pages of his notebook and balled it up into his hand, tossing it at the back of this girl’s head that was completely ignoring him.

“Annie!” His voice was hoarse like he was trying to whisper but really just ended up yelling.

“Annie!”

The girl snapped her head around towards him. Her stare was cold. Annie’s whole face sort of reminded me of a snake. Her eyes were slightly slanted and her expression was dull and uncaring but also filled with hatred. To put it short, she kind of scared me.

“ _What_?!” She snapped.

“Are we still on for Friday night?”

Annie rolled her eyes and Reiner leaned forward, his shoulder touching mine briefly before I scooted away. He pulled one of the drawstrings on Annie’s hoodie and she caught his hand, slamming it back into his own chest, adjusting her clothes. It was getting really hard to focus on Spanish verb conjugations when those two were chatting it up right next to me.

“Stop being annoying and do your work.”

“Ah, come on. Bertl really wants to know. He keeps bugging me about it. He wants to go with you.”

“I’m not going to be that sweaty ogre’s date to Jean’s party.”

Jean? My head snapped up and suddenly, I had abandoned my work in favor of being a nosey brat. Jean was throwing a party this Friday, and I wasn’t invited. Well, I wasn’t really surprised…

“Oh come on, don’t be a bitch.”

“Someone around here has to have enough balls to speak their mind, and I guess since it isn’t you, it has to be me. If that makes me a bitch, I don’t care. I’m not going to any party and I’m especially not going with your _boyfriend_  Berthold.”

I was starting to think about Jean again and I felt a bit of a chill run down my spine as I remembered him pinning me up against the locker this morning. I could still feel his breath against my ear. God, he was a creep. Why did I even _want_  to be invited to his stupid party? There would probably be drugs and alcohol there, too.

“Not my boyfriend,” Reiner rebutted

“Not my date,” Annie said.

 

At lunch, I was a little surprised to see that Krista was waving me over to her table. At least, I thought she was. I bit my lip in disbelief and pointed to myself. ‘Me?’ I mouthed. Krista smiled cheerfully and nodded. I couldn’t believe it. My hands shook a little and I began walking towards her. I set my tray down on the table and climbed into the indicated seat. Usually, I could find a seat at lunch, so it wasn’t really a problem, but I felt a little nervous sitting next to Krista. I mean, she was beautiful. Intimidatingly beautiful. She was beautiful in the sort of way that everyone seemed to acknowledge.

“Hey,” I breathed out, picking at my school issued mac ‘n cheese with my fork. She smiled again and took a bite of her pizza. “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Ymir is at the nurse’s office right now and I didn’t want you to sit alone.”

“Ymir?” I asked. The petite blonde nodded.

“She’s my friend.”

“And she usually sits here?”

“Well, yeah, but don’t worry, I don’t think she’d be mad if I let you sit here just for today.”

As if on cue, I felt a food tray nudging me in the back and turned my head to see a tall, sort of masculine looking girl with skin darker than mine and littered with freckles.

“Hey, Historia, what’s this guy doing in my seat?” she asked the blonde, completely ignoring me. I wondered why she’d called her by a different name than I was given. Maybe Krista was lying about her name? Maybe she gave me a fake name because she didn’t really want to be my friend. But then, why had she invited me over here in the first place? Ymir’s tray was still digging into my back.

“I thought you were sick.”

“I was. I came back to sit with you at lunch. And then this asshole takes my seat.”

Oh crap. I didn’t mean to take anyone’s seat! I raised my hands defensively. “I wasn’t-” I began to explain, but Krista interrupted me.

“I told him he could sit here because you weren’t going to be here.”

The taller girl squinted at me.

“Tch. Whatever. Let ‘em sit there.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding in, kind of relieved. Ymir put her tray of food down next to Krista. “I got an extra slice of pizza for you, anyway, so here,” she said and wrapped her arms around the blonde girl from behind. I was starting to get this weird feeling that maybe they were a bit more than just friends.

“You didn’t have to…,” Kirsta trailed off, blushing. Ymir’s features looked completely relaxed and unfazed as she kissed the side of Krista’s cheek. _What?!_  Okay, I was freaking out a little. Maybe my hunch was right? I didn't have anything _against_ gays or lesbians or you know. But, that just caught me off guard and it looked like it caught Kritsa off guard, too. Ymir pulled away and Krista was _really_  blushing now. Ymir took her leather jacket off and draped it over Krista’s shoulders before abruptly leaving.

“So… is she your… girlfriend?” I asked awkwardly. Krista’s eyes widened and she shook her head, burying her face in her hands.

“No!” she answered. “She just likes to embarrass me like that.” She pulled Ymir’s jacket tighter around her as she spoke, biting her plump bottom lip and looking down at her tray.

“Hey, Krista!” someone called from down the table and I sort of recognized the voice. It was Reiner. “Do you want that extra slice of pizza or can I have it?” I guess she and Reiner were sort of friends, because she nodded and slid the tray down towards him. I watched in horror as he folded the slice in half and stuffed it down his throat. That guy was barbaric!

“Thanks!” he called back. She beamed. I liked sitting next to Krista. I liked her in general, well, maybe not the way that Ymir liked her…  But, maybe, she was a friend. Maybe. Maybe she could be.

 

I went home that day, thinking that it was a pretty good one. My chest was filled with warmth. I really like Krista. I thought she was nice. She was _really_  nice. I listened to my Chris Isaac record as I finished my Pre-Calc homework and did reading both for History and English. I remembered being eager for the next day as I fell asleep and wondered exactly how long it’s been since I felt that way.

 

 


End file.
